As I'm currently overseas, I've asked a few people to help out with the some guest posts for the blog. They'll be interspersed with some other unpublished posts I have mooching around. Regular service will resume in March. - Sofie.

 When I was asked to put something together for this blog, I originally wrote something embarrassingly similar to How to Speak Poetry by Leonard Cohen.  As I reread my effort, however, I realised that I don’t really have the skill nor authority to tell anyone else how to speak, read or write.  The only thing that I can do with any authority is describe what impresses me in others, and what I take away from them.  This entry is my first in a series of three. 

Nirvana by Charles Bukowski (read here by Tom Waits) is my staple of excellent writing. Every time I find my writing getting out of control, or I have too many “all of a sudden”s or all meaning gets lost trying to shout its way through overly complex language and symbolism, I return to my roots and read Bukowski. I return to him not because I think he's the greatest writer that has ever lived, and not because he's some font of literary value, but because he is a root for me that reminds me about all that I like about writing. He keeps his writing simple, raw, emotive and yet intensely relatable, and these core values really inspire me as a writer. When you read Bukowski, you never feel that you are too dumb to understand, or that it’s just too weird or outlandish but at the same time, he has this ability to poke you in a place that, although you’ve lived your whole life, you've never really known how special it is.

Nirvana is a beautiful example of all these core values. On the surface it starts with the very familiar: most of us have been to, or can imagine going to, roadside houses and eating the simple meals that are designed to get people back on the road. But also on this surface level, most of us have experienced the listless feeling of being on a long road on the way to somewhere.

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
priding a bus
through North Carolina
on the way to somewhere

On the next level, we can instantly relate to the protagonists reaction. Maybe we were walking in a park, or just sitting at our desk but we’re suddenly struck with how special this place is. There is nothing physically different or remarkable and in a strange way we understand that, but at this moment, for whatever reason, this place at this time is special. We stand there, smile at the moment then walk on.

he wanted to stay
in that cafe
forever.
the curious feeling
swam through him
that everything
was
beautiful
there,
that it would always
stay beautiful
there.

On deeper levels we are reminded by the title that we are looking at a very sophisticated subject matter, but with simple language, simple imagery, and a very tight bond between the strange and the mundane we are softly lead down a very graceful analogy for enlightenment and happiness. Every time Bukowski has to expose us to something bizarre he cushions us with the familiar, in many cases the familiar can be crude or caustic but in all cases it is very relatable.

there was nothing
else to do-
just to listen to the
sound of the
engine,
the sound of the
tires
in the
snow.

So the next time I have my characters fly to the far parts of the galaxy, or have a psychotic breakdown caused by relativistic paradoxes, or the next time I have five pages of text describing a falling leaf or the lighting of a match interrupting a dialogue, I’ll return to Bukowski and let him remind me of those core values of simple language that is raw, emotive and intensely relatable.

Daniel is an ex-scientist, ex-corporate lackey currently living in Hungary with his voluptuous young wife teaching English to gypsies.  He writes intermittently for his own entertainment and for those who are close enough not to be offended.  He is currently co-writing a travel blog about his adventures (Amandango).